


Thermophobia

by penlex



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), DCU
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Barry Allen/Iris West background, Child Abuse, Dehydration, Family, Fire, First Degree Burns, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Phobias, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe background, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 03, Second Degree Burns, Team Flash background, Team Legends - Freeform, Third degree burns, except it's 3 Times, heat exhaustion, team arrow mentioned, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: Or 3 Times Leonard Thought He'd Burn +1 Time He Was Cool and ComfortableCompanion Mick piece:Frigophobia





	Thermophobia

**Author's Note:**

> The thing Mick says that Len can't hear in '2. Second' is "Five more minutes, Lenny." Just in case it doesn't hurt enough already. :)

**1\. Third**

Dad had the brilliant idea to combine discipline and containment. That was a few years ago now, but this is the first time that Leo has been cuffed to the radiator when it's  _ on _ .

Usually Dad does jobs in the spring and fall. He takes the winter off because he hates it and doesn't want to be out in the cold and the slush and the holiday crowds, all those people being  _ happy _ and  _ rich _ . As if he's hurting for money. He doesn't exactly have a compelling success rate for his heists, but he makes fucking bank when he doesn't get caught. Summer he takes off because he loves it. He goes on vacations and brings home wives, apparently, and when the romantic sea spray gets all washed away and she comes to her senses and leaves without even taking her baby with her, Dad takes it out on Leo.

Point being, a job in the dead of winter is unusual. Leo isn't allowed to sit meetings with Dad's crew, or pack of mercenaries as the case may be, even though sometimes they use him as a tool in their schemes. It's not fair, but that's life. Leo learned that lesson quick.

Leo also was quick to figure out not to try to eavesdrop on Dad and his men, but of course Dad doesn't like to leave his so-called 'lessons' up to chance. So here Leo is, with a pair of Dad's old handcuffs around one wrist holding him in close to the radiator. He wonders if Dad forgot it was on this time, or if he just doesn't care.

The radiator is just kind of warm, right now, but Leo knows it'll get hotter soon. It's on a timer or something, he doesn't know how it works. He just hopes Dad's stupid meeting is over before it kicks back up.

Leonard has always preferred coolness over warmth, see, for as long as he can remember. He's the opposite of Dad; he hates the summer and loves the winter. He knows already that he'll be going into the family business, but sometimes Leo likes to daydream about other professions where he could have those two seasons off. A teacher maybe. There are only two space heaters in the house and they're both located in Dad's room, but for once Leo doesn't mind not getting something. He prefers it colder in his room, and besides the baby sleeps in Dad's room and she could  _ die _ if she isn't warm enough.

The portion of radiator that Leo is cuffed to right now is along the wall in the short halfway between those two bedrooms. Dad's meeting is taking place in his room, with the space heaters, and with his nice drafting table that has enough flat space for the blueprints. The door is closed and blocks the conversation from reaching Leo, except every now and then he'll hear the men inside laugh or yell. He jumps when the noise is sudden, and the handcuffs clank against the radiator.

Leo doesn't notice at first, when the radiator starts to heat up. He was already uncomfortably warm, just sitting on the floor with his wrist held up above his head by the cuff, sweating and longing for his too-cool room. He doesn't know why Dad thinks he needs to do this every time to keep Leo out of the meetings. He didn't hold back with making his point the first time…

He hears the radiator clicking as it heats up before he notices the temperature change. He doesn't panic immediately, though he'll think later that's just because he doesn't know any better. The only burn Leo had ever had before this was a burnt tongue, so he doesn't have any concept of how bad a real burn can hurt. He has no clue what he's in for, not yet.

The heat builds quickly and Leo whines in discomfort, though he makes sure not to be too loud so that his Dad won't hear it. He's really sweating now, and he leans as far away from the radiator as he can, which is not very far at all.

Leo jumps to his feet when the cuff starts to burn him. He yanks at it even though he knows from plenty of previous experience that the chain on the cuffs won't break. He takes deep breaths, instructing himself to stay calm. Things that hurt are usually not as bad as they seem when they're happening. And probably Dad's meeting will be over soon anyway. Everything will be fine.

Dad's meeting is not over soon, and everything is not fine.

Leo has no idea how long it's been with the radiator on, but there's an angry red ring around his cuffed wrist and it hurts more than anything else he's ever felt. If that wasn't bad enough, the air has gotten so dry that it's getting hard to breathe and it stings his throat. He cries quietly for a little while, still trying not to attract his dad's attention, but then his eyes start to sting too and his tears dry up painfully.

Eventually, Leo's wrist under the cuff goes numb, and his hand and his arm start hurting instead. The redness spreads like food coloring in water and the numb part turns shiny and yellowish. He's not trying to stay quiet anymore but his breath is coming too short for him to made any real nose anyway. He gets nauseous from pain and from looking at his ugly wound, and he has to sit back down on the floor. The cuff moves when he does, and he finally cries out, sharp and hoarse. It feels like his wrist just got completely skinned.

"-fucking brat," Leo hears his dad say from the other room, but nobody comes to see what he's crying about. His head starts to hurt and his toes and his other hand feel cold, making him shiver and cause the cuff to scrape his burned wrist again.

Minutes or hours later, Dad finally comes to unlock him. He's laying on his back on the floor with the cuff pulling painfully on his arm, even though he doesn't remember laying down. Leo squints up at his dad and everything seems far away and way too bright. He can't feel his wrist anymore, but the rest of his arm is still burning hot, and everywhere else is freezing.

"Why didn't you say something, son?" Dad asks, his voice soft and concerned. He pulls the cuff off of Leo briskly, making Leo whimper and try to escape his grip.

"C'mon, kiddo" he says, pulling Leo up off the ground by his injured arm and ignoring how that makes him start crying again. "Let's get this under some cool water."

Leo knows you're not supposed to do that because he read it in one of the baby safety books he checked out when Dad's summer vacation wife left. But Dad's touch on his back is gentle for once, so Leo follows him into the kitchen anyway.

**2\. Second**

Len can almost understand, objectively, how Mick can find fire beautiful. He thinks, maybe, if it wasn't for the heat of it he might think it was kinda pretty too, especially the blue stuff, though obviously nothing will ever take the place in his cold heart reserved for all things hard and faceted. But he and Mick just  _ get _ each other somehow, in spite of all the reasons they shouldn't, and they have from nearly the moment they met on that fateful day in juvie. They built trust between them fast, maybe too fast, and Len grew comfortable actively indulging Mick's pyromania within barely more than a month. That was years ago, and Len and Mick are an unbeatable two-man team now - an unstoppable robber duo the likes of which the Twin Cities have never seen. And if Len personally wishes they were just that little bit  _ more  _ like Bonnie and Clyde, well. That's his own personal problem.

Point being, the job at the warehouse is nothing unusual. Len has planned for everything, as he always does, meticulously and with both aplomb and glee. Nothing should have gone wrong.

But here they are, and everything is wrong. Len is loathe to think it couldn't be worse, because with how things have gone it would be just their luck for him to jinx them on top of it all.

Len has never been this close to a fire this big before, and it is  _ loud _ . It's like a rampaging, rageful monster; its hot breath burns the back of Len's neck as it prowls ever closer, snapping support beams like twigs.

Mick isn't moving. He's conscious, standing, but immobile as a statue, his eyes shining as brightly as the very flame reflected in them, with that same enthralled look on his face that Len has wished more than once Mick might someday turn on him. He knows already that will never happen. Not now.

"Mick!" Len shouts. He'd prefer to snarl impatiently, but the fire roars around them louder than Len has ever been in his life. Even now, at the top of his voice, he's not sure if Mick can hear him. Although that might have less to do with volume than with the fact that Mick is… not totally present. "We have to go!"

The staircase behind Len collapses in a shower of sparks and the heat of the smoky air swirling around their heads ratchets up dramatically. Len yelps and leaps away from the empty space, now filled with flames and flames alone, cackling at him like they know how much they scare him and how much he hates to be made scared. A spark catches the sleeve of his shirt and he slaps at it with a whimper. He scampers to Mick's other side and hides behind him like a child.

"C'mon, Mick," Len whines, curling gloved fists into the scratchy-soft linen of Mick's favorite burning shirt. His eyes are burning but he can't tell if it's from the smoke and the heat or if he's crying from panic, and he can't remember which one of those is worse for him. He tugs fruitlessly at Mick's waist. Mick doesn't so much as blink.

Fire appears to be dripping from the ceiling where the first staircase used to be now. Len is breathing too deeply for it to be safe, too deeply and too quickly, through both his mouth and his nose without pattern - or is it too shallow? He doesn't remember. He's shaking. He doesn't know if that's from heat exhaustion or panic.

" _ Mick! _ " Len's voice cracks and rasps out of his throat painfully. He doesn't know if that's because he's screaming to be heard over the inferno, or if it's from smoke inhalation. It doesn't really matter; Mick still doesn't respond. Len wraps his arms around Mick's waist, nevermind that they feel like cooked noodles, and tugs with all his weight. He knows he'd get better results if he pushed Mick instead, but he can't bring himself to go back around his partner to nearer the bigger fire. Mick stumbles back against Len, and Len whimpers again when the sooty floorboards creak ominously underneath their weight. He lets go immediately and steps away on clumsy feet. It's getting hard to see straight; everything is a blur of black and orange. In the center is Mick, growing steadily hazier.

Len tries one more time, curled up into Mick's back, herded there by another shower of sparks and the distant sound of buckling wood growing ever nearer. He screams again, incoherent now, flinching away from the fire and cringing down out of the smoke, smearing sweat and snot into Mick's shirt. He tugs desperately, his fingers in Mick's belt loops. Mick reacts this time, and relief makes Len even more lightheaded for a moment, before Len realizes that Mick has only pushed him away. He mumbles something that Len can't hear over the devouring flames.

He has to make a decision.

"Mickey,  _ please _ ," Len rasps. His voice comes out only barely more than a broken whisper, scratchy and painful, but it hardly makes a difference. It's clear that Mick won't be responding, and Len doesn't have anything heavy enough on him to knock Mick out with, and even if he did it's debatable if he could drag both himself and his partner all the way out of this treacherous building when he's as weak and unsteady as he is from the heat exhaustion and lack of oxygen and from terror. He can't wait around for the smoke to knock Mick out either, because then they will both die. Len's stomach clenches painfully and he gags, heaves, at the thought of burning to death, but he's too dehydrated to actually throw up. The inside of his head is like TV static at top volume, loud enough even to drown out the red-yellow monster consuming everything around him.

Len turns away from Mick, toward the doorway to the still intact set of stairs. There's fire there too, but significantly less, and Len can at least see that beyond it there is still something to put his feet on. He'll have to run through the fire to get out, and unlike Mick he wasn't prepared to get up close and personal with the stuff - he's wearing a polyester knit.

Len takes a deep breath, only  _ just  _ able to ignore the way it hurts in his lungs, how it burns and feels thick and heavy, hot and full of contaminants. That's the power of the plan, for him. He can focus, now, right now, on the next step and nothing else. He braces himself and runs the few steps towards the doorway.

He stops, without conscious volition, just before he makes it through, and dances back skittishly. He glances back over his shoulder at Mick desperately, hoping maybe Mick will have come to and he could just toss Len over his shoulder and bulldoze them both through out into the cool and clean night air outside. But Mick still hasn't moved. Len looks back to the fire in the doorway, whines between his clenched teeth, and braces again.

Len runs, keeps running, screams as he goes through the door even though he can hardly notice the difference in heat, keeps running, screams again at every snapping floorboard and crumbling bannister, keeps running. He makes it out, the outside air hitting him like a wall of ice even though he knows it must still be hot so close to such a large fire. Len keeps running, until the chill gets to him and he's shivering, shaking to his bones. And then he throws himself into the ground and rolls, heedless to whether he's actually on fire or not.

Len stays there for long minutes, gulping down too-big mouthfuls of the frigid-feeling air and hacking it all back up, staring up at the stars whirlpooling above him, blinking rapidly because his eyes sting but won't tear. When he can finally manage to hold in a breath, Len sits up, then immediately dry heaves again. When that passes Len laboriously crawls around onto his hands and knees. He looks at the door of the burning building, making every effort to ignore the nauseating spike of adrenaline that shoots through him at the sight. He waits.

Mick doesn't come out. Len stands, and feels like he'll faint. He stands very still and breathes as deep and steady as he can manage in lieu of having something to grab onto. When he finally feels like his head is attached again, he starts to move back toward the building, thoughtless in his desire to go back for Mick.

Len manages five or six steps before the air starts to feel warm again, and then it's like he's caught in tar up to his ankles. He can't move any closer, and it's getting hard to breathe again. This time Len knows it's not from smoke.

"Mick!" he shouts, senselessly. If Mick couldn't hear him when Len was screaming right into his ear there's no way he'll hear now, when Len is standing safely outside the building and Mick is inside, layers of burning walls separating them.

With what feels like herculean effort, Len forces himself to take two more steps. He thinks really hard about a third, but his foot doesn't move, and another animalistic whimper ekes its way from his mouth. His bladder can't take the adrenaline anymore and lets go, but there's only barely enough liquid left in him to darken the front of his pants. The second Len stops trying to move forward he stumbles back faster than his shaky legs can actually carry him, falling backwards onto the ground and scrambling away over the dying grass. It's as if he's an automaton on a set track that he can't deviate from.

Len waits some more. Mick doesn't come out.

Sick with fear and guilt, guilt, guilt, so much fucking guilt, Leonard calls 911.

**3\. First**

It's 91 degrees and sunny in Aruba. Mick took his vacation time there, and while he was sunbathing he found Julius Caesar and beat him in a fight. Len took his vacation time back home in Central, and while he was shopping for multi-gallon tubs of ice cream at Sam's Club he found the biggest ice tray he's ever seen and bought three. Len is obviously the real winner here.

But now their vacation time is over, and the job is in Aruba, which means Len is in Aruba, and it's still 91 degrees and sunny. He has his cold gun, and that makes him feel a little better, but only a little. He watches Sara destroy Caesar's dignity in front of two dozen frat assholes. She's a treasure to behold, as always, but his presence is completely unnecessary and it's  _ hot  _ and he's  _ sweating  _ and he's forcibly regulating his breathing, his grip too tight on his gun in its holster. Finally the seconds long fight is over and they all head back to the ship. Sara gives Len a wink and an air kiss as she passes him by, skipping cheerfully in the sand, but Len can't spare the concentration to give her a convincing smirk back.

They're only on the ship for less than a half hour before everyone is voting to go back to the beach and extend their vacation there together. Len votes it down, but he's the only one. And despite his persistent chilly attitude, Len doesn't genuinely want to ruin any of their fun anyway. His traitorous heart has even thawed a little where the Professor is concerned, surreal as that still feels. So instead of making a fuss, Len volunteers to stay with the ship.

"You can stay if you want," Sara says doubtfully. "But it's gonna be off, so it'll get pretty hot in here. Somehow I don't think that's up your alley,  _ Cold _ ."

"So leave it on," Len sneers, frosting back over. "It's not like it burns gas, and even if it did I'm not really in the mood to care." He notices vaguely that his hand is still clenched around his gun. It's only for the security blanket effect, he'd never use it on any of them, and surely they know that by now, but a hand on a weapon his a hand on a weapon and the atmosphere on deck isn't a comfortable one.

"C'mon, man," says Jax, laughing uncertainly. "I mean, I know Mick said you had a Thing or whatever, but just change your clothes or something. You'll be so much cooler that way. No big deal."

"Can't do that," Len says simply. His voice comes out slow and syrupy in his irritation, the vowels extra round. Jax, a fellow Local who knows what that means, widens his eyes and wisely doesn't share any more ideas.

But Sara is right about the ship, and Len knows they can't actually just leave it on when there's only one of them there to make sure it doesn't get discovered and/or hijacked. So he slips off his parka and leaves it in his usual chair with a shaky sigh. Hopefully nobody notices the shaky part. Maybe it would be easier to get his way if he let his…  _ issues  _ show through, but even now vulnerability is not something Len can easily display outside of the direst of circumstances.

Mick goes into the fabricator and comes out with a large umbrella, a wide brimmed hat, and two battery powered fans. The segments of the umbrella are pink, yellow, and blue. Mick is the absolute best and Len is so glad he had the opportunity to beat that into their teammates' heads. He gives his partner a chaste kiss on the cheek, and Mick rumbles in happiness like a big cat.

So, here Len is, on vacation time, in Aruba where it is 91 degrees and sunny. The beach chair is reasonably comfortable, and the umbrella and the hat offer some protection, but it's  _ hot  _ and with every forcibly regulated breath the warmth inside his lungs makes Len's fists clench tighter and tighter. His neck is starting to hurt just from being so tense, and he's  _ sweating  _ which adds a layer of grossness to the whole stressful situation. Not to mention of course, the nagging irritation that Len knows he has nothing to be so stressed about. It's like a bee in his ear, except instead of buzzing it calls him weak.

Len sits quietly and pouts and sweats and tightly controls his breathing even as it gets more and more difficult. He drinks a lot more water than he probably needs and regrets leaving the cold gun on the ship, discretion be damned. He doesn't take his shoes off or roll up his long sleeves, partially out of real neurosis and partially out of pure stubbornness. The burn scar high on his wrist from the time his shit stain of a father cuffed him to a working radiator, hidden neatly beneath dark fabric, starts to itch. It's almost definitely psychosomatic, or whatever the proper term is nowadays, so Len grits his teeth and ignores it.

"Your nose is getting a little red, there, Snart," Heywood points out with a crooked grin, playfully kicking the bottom of Len's shoe as he passes back to his own beach chair with two fresh beers - no doubt one for himself and one for his  _ BFF  _ Ray. Len grits his teeth harder to hold in something deeply uncharitable about Nathaniel's mother. He can keep his cool, even when it's 91 fucking degrees.

"I'm bored," Mick says suddenly, sitting up. He's lying of course, but even though they learned to see him most of the team still can't quite read him. "Let's go."

"We practically just got here," Ray complains. Mick cuts him a glare. Len is on the wrong side of Mick to be able to see it, but from the way Ray pales underneath his own sunburn he can guess it was pretty vicious. Lie having failed to get the desired response at first attempt, Mick abandons it. Many have called that behavior laziness, but Len has always seen it as efficiency. Mick gets up and puts the entire drink bucket, filled with ice, at Len's elbow and then stands as much in Len's sun as he can. Baby West's meticulously sculpted eyebrows are pinching together in concern but before he can make himself Len's second anti-heat ally, another person-shaped shadow falls over Len's other side.

"Fancy meeting you lot out here." Len recognizes an affected gravelliness in a man's voice after so long by Mick's side, and as such he's not very impressed - not even when that raspy baritone comes from a bona fide witch.

"I need a word with you sorry fucks," Constantine continues, as if he doesn't have all of their attention already. "Whose brilliant idea was it to let an ancient demon out of his bloody cage?" And then he pulls the severed head of a dragon out from a ratty cloth and drops it in the sand at Mick's feet.

"It was Sara," Heywood tattles immediately, jerking his thumb at her.

"You opened a bloody door, love," Constantine scolds her. It raises Len's hackles, but he's not sure whether the reaction is over the tone or the pet name. Besides which, Len is put into the uncomfortable situation of being glad of Constantine's presence despite his usual dislike because it seems he's here to ruin the fun. "And Mallus wasn't the only thing that got out."

There's a short awkward pause after Constantine's dramatics, because life is never as seamless as TV and if you want to make your delivery cinematic you have to have someone lined up to take your cue or else a convenient exit already prepared - a lesson Leonard happens to have learned way back in his mid teens. It's always amateur hour with heroes, even heroes with anti-hero complexes. Len lets the moment draw out for just long enough to be painful before taking the first word.

" _ Aw _ ," he drawls, standing smoothly. "Looks like vacation is over. Tragic. Back to the ship, kids." They all look to Sara, and she reluctantly rises and shoves her feet back into her flip flops. Grumbling, the rest follow suit. Mick yanks the umbrella out of the sand and holds it over Len for him. Mick is the absolute best.

"Oh, come on," Zari laughs to Mick, the only person on the team she's managed to bond with yet. "He can't even walk back to the ship without being covered? What, is he a freaking vampire?"

"Yeah," says Mick, completely straight faced and droll, without even looking at her or any of the rest. He doesn't notice that Constantine's eyes narrow sharply in Len's direction. Len just narrows his eyes back.

The packing up takes forever, and so close to getting back into blessed sweet air conditioning Len loses his patience.

"Pick up the pace," he snaps, stomping through the sand over to Heywood who has been shaking out his towel for at least a full minute. Before he can grab Heywood's bag and start 'helpfully' shoving his shit into it, Len is intercepted by Constantine.

That is, he's intercepted by Constantine's crucifix.

Len stares flatly at him, while the rest of the team around them stills into a frozen tableau. The newer members are tensed for Len to start a fight out of offense, the rest are holding in laughter.

"If I don't get out of the sun in _one_ _minute_ ," Len snarls, and his voice is slower now than it has been all day. "I really will drain you of all your blood, but I won't even drink it. It will just go to waste. Clear?"

"Crystal," Constantine grumbles, humiliated at having reacted rashly but too proud to back down with grace.

Everyone packs up a lot quicker after that.

**+1. Perfect**

Vacation time comes around again, now that they're official members of an official organization that officially still doesn't pay them (Len is gonna quit this. Any second now). Most of the team wants togetherness again, and most of the team also wants to visit their families, and most of the team (here read: Nate and Ray) also points out that they haven't stopped in a holiday season for over a ship's year.

So now they're here. They're all here. And they want to spend time together. And Len is not opposed to that, necessarily. He's just not great with change. Even slow change. Mick is driving and he keeps giving Len these smug, understanding little side-eyes at every red light, but Len doesn't wanna hear his shit because Mick still won't let anyone else read his fucking book so it's not like Len is behind the curve here.

Queen has rented out the whole indoor ice skating rink in uptown Central. Len has been here once before, when Lisa had a competition here when she was twelve. It hasn't changed, but it's different. He's not worried about getting recognized from one of his open warrants, for one.

Len and Lisa don't have to wait in line to rent skates since they both still have their figure skates. They abandon Mick at the counter, where he was beset upon by half a dozen heroes. He'll get them back later, but for now the Snarts are going to enjoy their one chill minute of just them time. They ice dance, not to any particular routine, and Len is a little clumsy but passable, and Lisa is a show off, and she tells him she missed him, and he tells her he missed her, and they hug on the ice without getting in any speed skating teenager's way for once.

"Wow, I didn't know you could skate like that," Sara says as she breezes by Len doing a mediocre single salchow. Lisa laughs and does a flawless triple in the background.

The rest of the team, and their families and other teams, eventually all make it onto the ice with varying degrees of success. Ray and Nate are holding hands and they flailingly avoid a wipe out every ten seconds, but never let go. Caitlin Snow is almost definitely cheating, but Len's not going to say anything if she doesn't. Barry and Iris are disgustingly romantic, and so are the Detective and his lady friend, and Baby West and his young man. Len looks around for Mick and finds him clinging onto the edge of the rink, sliding along haltingly on wide bladed beginner skates.

Len skates over, but not to help. He skates backwards feet in front of Mick and makes a big show of waiting for him to catch up.

"Bastard," Mick grumbles, and Len sticks out his tongue.

Across the rink, Sara is coaxing Director Sharpe onto the ice. The Director is absolutely pouting, but Len would never say that to her face. When Sara finally succeeds, Sharpe immediately bambis. Sara and Lisa have the same laugh.

Eventually Len gets bored bumming with Mick and gives his partner a slow kiss goodbye. Mick falls as soon as Len pulls away, looking dazed. Len takes his exit on a scratch spin like an asshole. He skates from there across the ice to where Barry and Iris are skating along the edge at a leisurely, comfortable pace, facing each other and being all lovebirdy.

"Mind if I cut in?" Len drawls, cutting in front of them behind Iris and lounging back faux-seductively on the barrier. Iris looks vaguely put out, but after so long of Len upholding his deal with Flash it's really only by rote. Besides, Barry blushes rosy red like his suit and giggles. Adorable.

So he and Barry ice dance a little too, except Barry doesn't know how to ice dance so they mostly just skate inside each other's personal space, and Barry is unabashedly happy, and Len only insults him facetiously and puts his wallet back in a different pocket instead of keeping it.

Len and Sara have a quick jump competition, which ends in a draw. After finally giving up, the two of them watch their partners. Mick has braved the smoothest ice a few feet away from the wall, and Sharpe is clinging onto his inside arm stiff as a board. She slips around to in front of him when he moves that arm for balance and her face screams distress about being backwards, but she can't figure out how to right herself and neither can Mick. They make it a few feet like that, and Sharpe has almost begun to sort of start to relax a little bit, when Mick flips backwards like he stepped on a banana peel and takes them both down.

Sharpe lands face down in Mick's chest, him flat on his back, and they slide across the ice just like that farther and faster than they made it on their feet. Even after they slow, Mick doesn't attempt to get up again, just continuing to float along across the ice and staring up at the ceiling. He's protected from the cold by no fewer than two sweaters and a coat over top of his thermal union suit. Sharpe tries to get up, struggling to put her knees underneath her, and faceplants again.

"Don't you just love being attracted to more than one gender?" Sara asks Leonard idly, tilting her head to get a better look at Sharpe's ass sticking up from between Mick's legs.

"It's a gift," Leonard agrees, admiring the shape of Mick's hips underneath all those layers and a pretty lady.

He ice dances with Wally next, just for the excessively suspicious looks that gets him from Papa Bear West.

Eventually, Leonard settles against the barrier with a paper cup of hot spiced cider, observing. Mick and Ava have managed to get up, and Mick is being led around by Lisa while Sara coos over an invisible bruise on Ava's elbow. Queen's playlist is playing over the rink's speakers, which is annoying, but it's not Christmas music or Disney's Frozen so Len's not complaining. The cider is good. The rink is heated for comfort, but still cool enough for the ice. Barry snorts sometimes when he laughs too hard.

"Jeez," Cisco says, skating over with minimal movement like he's on heelys, caring his own cup of cider or hot chocolate or coffee or whatever, bundled up in an orange puff coat. He gestures at Len's own clothing: thick, dark-wash jeans, a cashmere turtleneck, and gloves. "Aren't you c- ...nevermind." Len huffs a laugh at him, sporting a full-faced grin. He does  _ love  _ the name.

"No," he tells Cisco, even though Cisco already answered his own question. Len looks back out across the rink again, at his team - his family, so much bigger now than just his sister and his partner - having a good time on ice. "No, this feels perfect."

And it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I deleted Gary. I love him, but I couldn't fit him in without the scene being too clunky and overfull of characters for me.
> 
> Companion Mick piece here: [Frigophobia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003605)


End file.
